


Waking Up the Devil

by Loka_Senna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Harry Backstory, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Harem, M/M, Multi, Powerful Harry, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10959669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loka_Senna/pseuds/Loka_Senna
Summary: Someone beat the Winchesters to the Colt.  Someone who decides to crash the party.  They just better be careful.  It wouldn't do to wake the devil.





	Waking Up the Devil

** Waking Up the Devil **

_Beta’s Note from Sif –_

_So: **Waking Up The Devil**_ _is a SPN/HP crossover that starts towards the end of Season 1 in the episode Dead Man's Blood.  Up to that point you can assume everything is canon except for some background information that doesn’t come up until later in SPN.  After that things are going to go very quickly off the rails.  As far as HP is concerned, you're looking at mostly canon for the books but the crap Epilogue never happened making this an EWE for the Harry Potter 'verse with some alternate universe elements via HP happening in the 1400’s instead of the 1900’s.  Loka and I figured that since the wizarding world_ acted _like they were from the Middle Ages that it wouldn’t really change the storyline in any appreciable way by kicking the setting back a century or five._

_Author’s Note from LokaSenna: The above being said, that makes Harry/Anish’s date of actual birth in 1480 instead of 1980 and he’s a whopping 525 years old, turning 526 after the end of SPN Season 1._

**_Author’s Warning from LokaSenna: As with all of my stories this contains SLASH!_ **

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Supernatural are the property of their respective creators/publishing houses/television studios, etc.  No profit is made from this work of fanfiction for the writer._

**Chapter One: The Barrel of a .45**

**"** Fuck!"  John Winchester cursed as he and his sons crept into the run-down barn they'd traced the murderous coven of bloodsuckers to.

Rather than walking into a tense covert-operation while they searched for the legendary Colt under the cover of the bright noonday sun, they'd found a bloodbath - and not the kind one would expect in a vampire hideout.

"Christ."  Sam said while Dean echoed their father's sentiment, his machete hanging loosely at his side while he stood up from his crouch.  "What the hell happened here?"

"Dunno."  Dean growled as he started searching for the gun they were looking for among the remains of the bodies, John already working his way through the boxes and tables and assorted junk laying around after getting over his shock.  "One of them offed the others and took off, maybe?"

"Doubt it."  John answered absently as he pawed through piles of useless crap, setting aside anything that might be of use to them later including a rather nice set of throwing knives that had no business in a Wyoming barn.  "Vamp covens are notoriously tight-knit.  One of the fuckers might go off on their own if they get into it with the leader but they also stick by their own...it's one of the things that made them so damn hard for Elkins and others like him to stomp them out."

Sam fell into the last remaining job of sorting through the papers his dad found like he'd never left hunting in the first place, easily slotting back into the rhythm of looting a monster's cache after doing the same with Dean over the last several months.  Having their dad around just made the work go that much faster since John and Dean brought the papers to him and he didn't have to go looking for it.  Maybe there might be some insight in the coven's records of who might be after them...besides the Winchesters anyway.

John and Dean had nearly finished looting the hideout when Dean spotted a thin leather-bound notebook wedged between two floorboards.

“Hey guys.”  He called out, prying up the half-rotten planks with the dull backside of his knife.  Staring down into the hidden cache he flipped idly through the ledger-journal-thing he’d found in addition to a sweet stash of what looked like real gold and silver.  “Yahtzee.  We’re eating good tonight…and a while after.”

Sam and John sauntered over, the youngest Winchester letting out a whistle as his father stacked the coins, pure bullion maybe?  And even bars of precious metals onto the dirty floor.  He hadn’t found much from the paperwork they’d found, but maybe the book in his brother’s hands might have a better idea.

One thing bothered him though…

“This place was pretty well torn up and ransacked.”  He commented quietly, almost to himself as he looked around, John busy separating the loot and weapons into two piles and Dean still flipping through the ledger in his hands.  “How did whoever did all _this¸_ miss _that_?”  He asked waving towards the gold and silver.

“I don’t think _he_ did.”  Dean answered the nearly-rhetorical question, waving his dad and brother over to look at something he’d found, alerted by his tone – and choice of pronoun.  “Look at this.”  He pointed to a series of entries at the very back.  “I’ve found these entries going back _months_.  The blood-suckers were stalking Elkins, tracking him the same way we do hunts.  The problem is…”  He drawled as Sammy gave a surprised lift of his brows as he took in the information on the pages Dean pointed to.  “That they weren’t the only ones.  The coven leader, head vamp, or whatever wrote more than once that they ran into some guy they all,” here he rolled his expressive green eyes.  “Refused to name, calling him He or Him, like they knew him…knew and were _afraid._ ”

“Any idea who or what this big bad is Dad?”  Sam asked, not finding any reference to who this guy was or even what he looked like.

“Unless he’s a character from Buffy…,” John shrugged.  “No.  Never heard of him.”

“Well he was tracking the Colt.”  Dean said, Sam nodding as he handed off the book to their dad.  “The head vamp’s last entry was from yesterday…and it mentioned spying Him in town when one of the vamps went for a _bite_.”

…

From there things went from a dead-end to epically fucked in a matter of days.

Turned out, it wasn’t only vampires, a mystery “big bad”, and the Winchesters hunting the Colt.  No.  That fucker Yellow-Eyes was looking for it too…only _he_ thought the Winchesters were the ones who tossed the nest and killed the coven.

Granted…they _did_ toss the nest afterwards and they would’ve exterminated the coven…if they’d gotten there first.

But they didn’t.

And now their dad had been kidnapped by the goat-fucking-Grigori Yellow-Eyes himself and had made the terms of John’s release very _simple_ : their dad for the gun.

Not that they’re dumb enough to _believe_ the demon would actually give up John for the Colt.  No, no, no.  They’d all been too big of thorns in his hide for that to happen.

Which brought them to Bobby’s in hope that the grizzled old hunter might have a bright idea to get them all out of this mess alive since in one-piece wasn’t likely to happen.

The only bright side was that pain-in-the-ass bitch of a demon Meg followed right after them…which was the plan after all.

Dean couldn’t help but share a vindictive smirk with Sammy as the cute little blonde with the evil black eyes screamed and cursed at them from inside the Devil’s Trap she moseyed on into under her own steam.

“What?”  Sam mocked, taking the lead when the urgency of needing to find and recover their dad triumphed over their pure vengeful glee at watching a demon – especially _this_ demon – squirm.  “You _really_ thought we were completely unprepared to deal with a demon?”  He arched a brow.  “You clouds of tainted darkness have been stalking our family almost all my life…eventually we _had_ to have come up with a couple of tricks.”

Or Bobby did at least.

Either way.

Before they could start in on her, Meg suddenly twitched, head snapping around to stare in shock at the closed door, then her eyes wheeling, gaze searching frantically throughout the room as she spun around inside the Devil’s Trap.

“Relax, Meg.”  Dean drawled sarcastically.  “We salted all the windows and doors, even laid down lines of goofer dust and anti-demonic sigils once you were all tucked away in your playpen.  None of your little buddies are going to be able to help you this time.”

“The idjit’s right.”  Bobby nearly grunted the words from his spot reclining in his armchair.  “I’ve warded this place tighter than a nun’s knees.  Nothing’s gettin’ in here.”

“It’s not my _little buddies_ I’m sensing, stupid.”  Meg drawled right back, slumping down in a huddle when she didn’t find what she was hoping to see.  “And contrary to what you _think_ , you haven’t warded this place against _everything_.”

They weren’t warded against _Him_ let alone the others of his kind.

Something rather pertinent given that she was a _fucking demon_ who wanted to keep existing for longer than it took…whoever it was she was sensing to arrive – or show themselves, given that _He_ wasn’t always ready to kill first and ask-questions-never…just most of the time.

 “Oh yeah?”  Dean drawled again, arching a mocking brow as Sam took her words seriously.  That was their way – one played skeptic while the other played believer, generally speaking between the two they usually came out even or ahead in the end.  “Tell me then: whaddid we miss?”

Meg chuckled, enjoying the irony.  She spends _years_ avoiding _him,_ since he was one of the only ones of his kind who still ran around this dirt patch, and now because of the fucking _Winchesters_ she was a sitting duck.  When it came down to it, it didn’t matter that _he_ wasn’t a fan of kill-first-ask-questions-never Hunters.  In this clusterfuck, being a trapped demon was _infinitely_ worse than being a trigger-happy Hunter.

“ _He_.”  She said with an emphasis that was half-reverence and half-hate.  “And all _his_ kind.  You think _demons_ are bad for the local wildlife?”  She snorted, laughing to herself.  “At least we find you interesting – granted some of us more than others – or want you for meat suits.  _His kind_ would just as soon bring another great flood as _talk_ to a human as if they were a higher life form.  Ants, that’s all you are to _them_.”  She searched her mind, trying to think of what it was she’d heard before that _they_ called humans.  Oh yeah.  It was…  “ _Mud monkeys_.  To _them_ , that’s all you mortal humans are.”

Bobby frowned thinking fast.

There was something in her rant that struck a chord.

He just needed to figure out what…and then it came to him.

“Bring about a great flood.”  Bobby said, cutting off the hushed argument between the idgit brothers.  “What like an archangel?  Ya demon filth expect us to believe _those_ are real?”

“Angels?”  Sam perked up, face brightening despite the severity of their situation.

“What?”  Dean gave a full-body groan, leaning back into it and everything.  “Really, Bobby?  Really?  Like with wings and a harp and the white robes?”

Meg scoffed, rolling her eyes, strangely in concert with Bobby who did the same, the pair of demon-and-hunter trading an uncomfortable glance.

“Angels weren’t all sunshine and goodness, Dean.”  Sam rushed in to explain before his brother’s temper heated up…more than it already was anyway.  Dean was controlled – mostly – at the moment.  The last thing they need was Dean going off half-cocked and losing the demon before they found out where their dad was being held.  “They were the soldiers of heaven.  Warriors, generals,” he waved a hand.  “Even…executioners.”

“Executioners?”  Dean arched an incredulous brow at his baby brother.  “From heaven?  Really now?  This isn’t really helping your case, Sammy.”

“Old Testament.”  Bobby chimed in, throwing a leather-bound copy of the Bible – the real deal not the watered-down tripe for public consumption – at the shorter Winchester, Dean catching it and holding it against his chest, nearly bowled over by the weight of the massive tome.  Bobby was stronger than he looked.  Though he’d have to be to surviving Hunting long enough to semi-retire.  “The Tenth Plague of Egypt for one.  Slaughter of entire armies, Sodom and Gormorrah, all done by _angels_.”

“And they don’t like demons.”  Meg added.  “To say the least.  They barely tolerate humans – and those are the nicer ones.”

“Haven’t been seen on Earth, oh.”  Bobby shifted his trucker cap to scratch his head in thought.  “Probably since Christ.”

“Who was a Nephilim be-t-dubs.”  Meg smirked.  “ _Also_ an abomination according to the almighty winged hypocrites...though given that _he_ is running around on Earth and not up in the heavens, bets are high that _he’s_ an abomination as well, opinions are mixed on that part…but he’s an abomination we’re forbidden to touch, unlike angels.”

“Ok, wait.”  Dean pinched his nose between in fingers, eyes closed and squinting.  “If angels consider Nephilim and demons abominations, and you consider this guy an abomination, he’s what?  Angel-spawn?”

“Depends on how you look at it.”  Meg hedged, well aware that she’s already done _way_ too much sharing for her father’s preference.  She was going to get punished hardcore when she makes it bag to him… _if_ she made it back to him.  “Orders are not to touch him.  That leads to certain assumptions but no real proof.”

“Ok, ok.”  Sam waved a hand.  “So this, _him_ , any chance he’s the same _him_ that had the vampire coven running scared?”

Meg blanched.

Oh _shit_.

She and her father might have made one _serious_ miscalculation.

 _He_ and the Winchesters are bad enough on their own.

Put them _together?_ (if they can stand to be around each other long enough to make it work anyway…)

Demonic apocalypse in the making…and not the fun hell-on-earth kind.

And then there was the issue of the Colt…

Shaking her head, Meg refocused.

She’d felt him – or something like him – approaching but then it had stopped.  There was a high possibility that whatever had drawn, whoever it was, to the junkyard that they’d been drawn off elsewhere.  Time to get back on point.

“Let me guess.”  She sighed, closing her eyes in resignation.  “You idiots really _don’t_ have the Colt.”

“Nope.”  Dean smirked at her, popping the “p” on the word.  “Nada.  Zero.  Zilch.  Someone the vamps wouldn’t refer to by name, only gender, ransacked the coven before we torched it.  So we’re running on an assumption that whoever it was has the Colt.”

“Well…”  Meg drawled.  “That’s real bad news for Daddy John boys.  Real bad.  Because if it really is him?”  She leaned forward, finishing in a whisper.  “Then he’s going to _scream real pretty_ before my father is finished with him.  I can promise you that.”  She laughed, half-delighted and half-running-scared at the turn of events.  “He’ll _never_ deal with Hunters.  _Never-ever-ever-ever.”_ She sing-songed as Dean’s face turned an interesting shade of red.

“An interesting turn of phrase…”  A deep, silky voice commented as a being stepped into existence from the pale shadow of a bookcase that tinted one wall.  “From a _turned_ -demon.  Do you even _know_ what a promise _is_ anymore Megaera?”

Meg hissed, scrambling back as best she could from the newcomer as the Winchesters and Bobby dove for weapons.

And with good reason.

 _He_ wasn’t exactly the picture of harmlessness, standing several inches over six feet from what Sam estimated, draped all in black with the hilt and pommel of a sword sticking up over one broad shoulder.

 _He_ was also beautiful, in a distinctly _inhuman_ way, with lush lips, gold-dusted skin, and, worst of all luminous – nearly glowing – silver eyes.

In fact, one of the most _normal_ things about him was his rich black hair – hair that when he stepped further into the living room and the light, glinted with blood-red highlights, a pairing not naturally seen on a human head.

They didn’t know _what_ he was…but they knew what he _wasn’t_ – human – and for Dean that was more than enough to condemn him, discussion of angels tossed to the wayside when confronted with a creature that had a badassed demon scrambling – as best it could anyway, which was to say hardly at all – to get away from it.

“Pax, Hunters.”  He spoke again, holding up his hands.

Their response was simple – and expected – as various weapons were pointed in his direction and cocked, fingers on the triggers and cold eyes watching him for any movement threatening or otherwise.

Well…he supposed they _were_ hunters, some of the best from what he’d heard.  It was a little far-fetched to expect him to be welcomed when he arrived in a distinctly not-human fashion.  It had been so long since he’d been around anything even remotely human that he’d forgotten how things like that could be taken.

His bad.

“Pax.”  He said again, cocking a brow and a half-smile crossing his face.  “And see how desperate your trapped abomination is to escape for me.”  He tilted his head to one said.  “Surely we can come to an accord.  After all…anything than can put a demon on the run _should_ be welcomed in the dire straits you have found yourselves in…no?”

“What?”  Dean snarled, eyes darting between Meg and the new dude.  It looked to him like they might have found their missing Big Bad after all.  He was a connoisseur – of sorts – of fear.  It was one of the few reliable things in the family business.  No two fears were the same.  And Meg’s was genuine, that much was true.  That _didn’t_ automatically mean that mister-freaky-eyes was a good dude.  Not in the least.  If Winchester luck was anything to go by, he’d probably end up just being way high up on the evil scale – someone so bad that even powerful demons like Meg was supposed to be were afraid.

Like Azazel.

“Like an enemy of my enemy is my friend?”  Sam tossed in, never wavering from sighting down his pistol.

“After a fashion.”  He lowered his hands down to his sides, though keeping his palms open and facing the hunters at all times.  “More, the enemy of _your_ enemy can get your father back…isn’t that what all this is about in the first place?”

Dean released the hammer on his revolver, lowering it in turn as his brother and Bobby kept their weapons on the target.

“I’m listening.  Make it fast.”

…

Anish watched the Hunters with calm amusement that turned into ferocious glee whenever his silver eyes cast over the trembling form of the abomination Megaera.

It was an interesting mien on the demon, who had been gifted with its name by its “father” Azazel after its soul had been corrupted and turned, a name with heavy meaning which once had been borne by a Fury, solely due to its – her’s he supposed given her current visage – ability to hold a grudge.

Not that Anish could speak much to auspicious names.

After all, his birth name: Hereweald, later shortened to Harry, meant “ruler” – and interesting contrast to the one bestowed on him by _his_ father, Anish meaning supreme, without a ruler.

And he’d been both in his handful of centuries.

But Megaera?

He snorted softly and rolled his eyes a bit, making the Hunters even more nervy – something which he would have wagered wasn’t possible a moment before, even with the pretty one with eyes similar to his own before his… _change_ putting down his weapon.

Megaera at the moment couldn’t be further away from the spiteful creature she had always been since Azazel lifted her up from the dregs of the Pit…though if she managed to escape this trap, he knew full well that she would carry out a vendetta against both the Winchesters and their erstwhile companion, self-preservation keeping her – most likely – from venting her spleen upon him…or attempting to anyway.

“To start,” Anish began.  “Take every word from Megaera’s lips with a heavy grain of salt: she’s one of the demons of Spite, and is more than capable of cutting off her own nose to stymie you…if not her own neck.”

“Megaera.”  The tall one made a knowing noise, slowly lowering his weapons from where they had still been pointing at Anish at a glance from his brother, leaving only their elder to keep sights on him with intent to harm.  “That makes…sense actually.  Can you tell us more about demons?”

“I _can_ tell you many things.”  Anish gave him a half-smile.  “I have lived a long time after all…”

Megaera snorted, rolling her eyes.  “He’s a baby compared to my father.”

“Your _father_.”  Anish hissed at her, eyes narrowed.  “Is one of the Fallen.  That he has _lowered_ himself to his current course is nothing less than the depths of scrapping bottom and in turns _reeks_ of desperation and obsession.”  He eyed her derisively.  “Though, he’d started himself on that path the very _moment_ he chose to take in the likes of a damned soul for his child.”

“You can’t exactly talk about dads-of-the-year, _Uncle_ Anish.”  Megaera snapped back, her anger overcoming her fear for a moment.  And with him there before her well…there wasn’t much point in avoiding saying it anymore for fear of drawing his attention to her – and her activities.

Names had power.

Which was why Anish always used them whenever possible.

But being what he was…there wasn’t much he had to fear.

And the little he did, save one or two beings, wouldn’t be likely to care if he drew their attention.

Though, Megaera’s little jab had the two younger hunters pointing their weapons back at him – this time with looks of loathing rather than plain wariness.

“Please.”  Anish rolled his eyes.  “I can’t do anything regarding my sire.  But that _does not_ mean that I have to claim relation to each and every one of his spawn, any more than I do theirs in turn.”

“Ok.”  Dean’s voice was a near-growl, green eyes flashing.  “What the fuck are you two talking about _now_?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Master Hunters that you _think_ you are?”  Meg mocked them relentlessly, sneering over at the looming form of Anish that had somehow cut the distance between the devil’s trap and the shadow he stepped from in half without the hunters – or her for that matter – noticing.  She’d been wondering why he was talking so much…well for _him_ anyway.  She snorted.  “ _Pa_ -thetic.”  Shrugging and rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner, she enlightened them.  Honestly, hunters these days.

Unknowingly, she was living up – or rather _down_ – to her _Uncle’s_ opinion of her ability to spike her own guns at the same time as fucking with an enemy.

For every moment she engaged the hunters was another that Anish used to inch closer to the devil’s trap – and more importantly – _her_.

“He’s a _Nephilim_ , nimrods.”  Well, _maybe_ he was.  The demonic juries were still out on that.  She chuckled darkly.  Still, giving them this much would at least prevent them from trusting _him_.  The _last_ thing her father needed right now were these two parties joining forces.  “Son of Satan, himself.”

“How can that be?”  Sam asked – his confusion was rather adorable for her to watch.

“Wait, wait, back the truck up a fucking second.”  Dean waved a hand in agitation, gun steady once more on who Meg had called Anish.  “The devil?”  He cocked a skeptical brow.  “Like Lucifer, devil?”

“The Morning Star himself.”  Anish cocked his head to one side, still calm.  He didn’t like to discuss his... _strange_ parentage.  But being as old as he was…he’s over it as the current generations would say.

That his sire was mostly absentee helped with that.

If he hadn’t had an explanation himself when he’d… _changed_ , even he would have a hard time believing it so he didn’t mind the pretty one’s blatant skepticism.

Though _how_ Lucifer sired him was not yet – and likely never would be – a healed wound.

“I thought, you just said…”  Dean frowned deeper.  “That Nephilim were half-angels.  How is the devil _his_ father?  He’s the _devil_.”

“That’s not _strictly_ true.”  Anish corrected with a frown.  “On either score.  Nephilim can also be the product of half-demon – or further diluted – heritage.”

“Lucifer.  Who was an angel…”  Sam said slowly, tone gaining an understanding tinge, _and_ sticking to a subject their _visitor_ clearly wanted to get off of.  “But somehow didn’t _become_ a demon?”

“No, he didn’t.”  Meg said, voice worshipful.  “He’s the King of Hell…and an archangel, all at the same time.”

“Not.”  Anish smirked at her gloatingly.  Granted he wasn’t _proud_ of being the Prince of Hell…ish.  If there _was_ such a personage.  Anish stayed the _hell_ away from Hell.  After all, Satan for his father or not, he _was_ still a Nephilim.  Not exactly a _welcome_ creature in the Pit, as Meg’s epithet of “abomination” had proved – despite the truth that these days they were all from demonic parentage rather than angelic anymore.  “That the others who followed him – a full third of the host – had that same luxury.  Like, Megaera’s daddy dearest Azazel, who followed Lucifer and now is – supposedly – trying to free him…that _is_ why you’re after the Colt, isn’t it?  The key to the Gate?”  He arched a brow.  “That, oh yes, these Hunters _don’t have_.”

“What will it take, Anish?”  Meg stopped playing games for a moment, the two beings ignoring the humans for the moment as the Winchesters and Bobby processed _that_ gem.  “If they don’t have it, and you’re here…”

Anish slow clapped, smirking all the while, silver eyes glowing as the Hunters moved carefully to stand between the demon and Nephilim and the door.

Not that Anish _needed_ a door, but they were banking on the demon having to use it… _if_ it doesn’t want to leave it’s meat-bag behind.

“Brava.”  He mocked.  “You _can_ reason for yourself.  I was starting to wonder.  Azazel clearly can’t, otherwise none of us would be here, right now, in this situation…would we?”  Anish shook his head mournfully.  “Too much brimstone has clearly rotted his brain.”

“You’re willing to deal for the Colt?”  Bobby asked incredulously, climbing to his feet.  “With _that_?”  He stabbed an accusing finger towards the bound demon.

Anish just smirked deeper, eyes flashing a moment as his hand twitched, guns – and knives, the Hunters were all curiously well equipped – flying from hands and belts and tables or wherever else they might be stashed to pin against the walls, as if the walls themselves had become super-powered magnets.  Another flash of his eyes had the three humans all seated – and stuck – to the couch, voices silenced to much ire.  The pretty one tried to speak only to have nothing come from his throat, the glare Anish was flashed from green eyes positively _murderous_ , while his brother flipped him off and settled his attractive features into what Anish believed could be called a _Bitch Face_.  As for their older companion, he seemed contents to watch and seethe as his younger friends contented themselves with mouthing silent curses towards their new captor or using increasingly vulgar – and creative – sign language to do the same.

“Hush now.”  Anish spoke patronizingly – to a rise in the efforts to release themselves through sheer _will_ , making him up the power he used to trap them in turn.  Powerful…an infuriatingly ignorant of it if he had to guess.  _Someone_ was playing games.  And he didn’t need three guesses to know _who_.  “Adults are talking.  What would you offer for it, spiteful one?”

“What would it take?”  Megaera shot back.  “There _has_ to be something you want, otherwise you would have killed me the _second_ you got here.”

A flash of his eyes removed the demon from its bonds but not from the Trap, the two forces moving to stand toe-to-toe on opposing sides of the painted lines.

Anish felt a glimmer of deepening respect for the hunters as he studied it fully.

They’d done some good work.

Too bad they never would have gotten what they wanted from this creature.

White teeth flashed as Anish smiled beguilingly.

“What else would be worthy of a demon deal?”  He asked, cocking his head to one side.  “But a human soul of course…”

Magaera’s eyes showed her confusion for a moment, then cleared, bravado snapping into place.

“Anyone I know?”

Anish tsked, shaking his head ruefully as he once again had to increase the power that it took to hold the hunters in place – particularly the tall one.

“Your father _has_ been a busy boy, hasn’t he?”  He murmured to himself, head turning to eye the doe-eyed brunet before turning back to the demon and tilting his head in question.  “Azazel might have overreached himself this time.”

“You don’t know anything!”  Meg shouted fisted hands beating uselessly – and painfully – against the boundary of the Trap, nose nearly touching Anish’s as she stood on tip-toe to try and correct the height imbalance that placed her lower than him.  “My father will…”

“Do _nothing_.”  Anish hissed, eyes narrowing.  “Like always.  All the plots, all the schemes and connivining and back-biting…all to no avail…as _always._   The Gate is _shut_ , Magaera.  Nothing else – _no one else_ – that it keeps back will be spilling out into the mortal plane anytime soon – and that’s a promise.”

“We’ll find a way.”  Meg swore, stepping back as Anish reached back and unsheathed his sword in a well-practiced, smooth, motion.  “You can’t hold the war back single-handed, Anish.  One angelic-hybrid against all the forces of Hell?”  She kept talking, even as her back hit the other side of the Trap with a hiss – and Anish stepped over the line and into the circle with her.

…

Dean didn’t know whether to curse, cry, or cheer – but since the nephil-whatever _hadn’t_ made a deal with the demon, and currently had it pinned down with a sword – a fucking _sword_ – ready to go – and given that he wasn’t a wuss – Dean was going with cursing.

He didn’t know _what the fuck_ to think about Anish or Anoosh or whatever his – it’s? – name was.

Judging by the looks on their faces, Sammy and Bobby didn’t either.

But he’d had a point earlier.

Anything that could put a demon on the run was worth a second-look, even if it did come packed with some sort of strong-ass mojo that he’d never even heard of before, let alone seen.

Let Bobby and Sammy worry about that part.

Dean was more interested in what Anish was going to do with that sword – and how it was going to play into getting his dad back…hopefully in one piece.

Snake-strike quick, said sword was up and whistling through the air with a flick of a wrist.

And just as quick, Meg’s head rolled onto the floor…but no smoke poured from the now-headless corpse any more than blood did.

…

From behind him, three bodies tumbled onto the floor with the sound of groans and curses as the hunters were released from his spells, a curious counter-point to the quiet _thud_ of the _other_ body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Why- what- why?”  The tallest hunter stuttered, brain firing too quickly for his mouth to keep up – a problem his brother apparently didn’t share, nor did their older companion.

“There was a girl still inside that body.”  Bobby growled, hands clenching into fists as he eyed the weapons that were still pinned to the walls.

Anish gave a quirk of his mouth as he turned away from the body and faced the hunters then took a very-deliberate step out of the Devil’s Trap and into the room-proper.  Once again his estimation of these hunters rose when not one did more than _look_ at the weapons.  No lunges for either him or the walls, no demands, nothing more than a glance towards the weapons before refocusing on him.

Maybe these ones really _were_ as clever – and resourceful – as he’d heard tell.

That made them dangerous…though whether to him or not had yet to be determined.

To his enemies however…now _that_ had been made clear when Megaera attacked them over and over.

Azazel didn’t bother with things that were disposable, to give credit where it was due.

And these two young hunters were of _great_ value and interest to the Fallen angel…their father on the other hand…not so much.

Which brought them back around to the problem at hand.

“She was already dead.”  Anish told the grizzled one, voice never rising from the same calm, flat tone.  “She just didn’t know it yet.”

The tall one – Sam, he gathered from what he’d researched when he’d realized his latest _acquisition_ had had a bit of collateral damage from his very unlamented adopted _brother_ – closed his eyes with a knowing groan.

“What?”  The pretty one, Dean he thought, asked, glancing between Anish and his brother.

“Meg took a dive off a _building_ , Dean.”  Sam explained with a grief-stricken look and quiet tone.  “Who knows what else the demon put her through…”

Anish nodded when the trio all cast questioning looks at him.

“Demons – and angels for that matter – have little regard for their hosts.  Most are dead souls walking – if the possession doesn’t burn them out.”  He explained with a shrug.  “Strong souls – or stubborn ones – last longer, but in the end a possession usually only ever has _one_ conclusion.”  He cast a meaningful glance at the body that was in two pieces.  “ _That_.  In one form or another.  Better something quick than to spend her last moments in misery.”

“Yeah…about that.”  Dean glared.  “Why’s there no blood?”

Anish held up the sword.  “It cauterizes the wound on contact.  A little something I added to the enchantments it already possessed.  Blood doesn’t come out of leather with any real ease you see…”

“Tell me about it.”  Dean muttered under his breath as Sammy and Bobby were having some kind of hissed argument at his side.  Up to him to talk to the nephil-whatsit while they figured out whatever the plan was.  “Why bother asking about a deal if you were just going to gank the demon?”  He asked, head cocked a bit to the side.  “What’s the point?”

“Your assumption being that only we…”  Anish waved a hand around the room.  “Were privy to that conversation.  My words weren’t for _her_ or even for you.  They were for someone else.  Now.”  He clapped his hands together with mock-cheerfulness.  “To business.  You lot want your father back, and I need to have a little _chat_ with Azazel…so.  Who’s interested in a raid on demon-central…any takers?”


End file.
